“So you are Harry Harding. Sit down here, Harry. I should like to talk with you.” The senior partner of Martin Brothers waved a distinctly embarrassed boy into a chair opposite his own and surveyed the lad with an earnest, kindly gaze.

Inwardly Harry was wildly cogitating the reason for this interview which had been thrust upon him. It could hardly pertain to the affair of the cash box. It was four days since that had happened. In four days an excitement of that nature has ample time to die out in such a busy world of trade. Yet Mr. Martin did not seem displeased; quite the contrary. His singularly youthful dark eyes, which contrasted so sharply with his gray hair and mustache, were filled with friendliness.

“Mr. Keene has told me so much that is good of you, I thought I should like to see the boy who has looked out so thoroughly for my interests and for those of my employees. Your prompt action saved the store a loss on last Friday. You are greatly to be commended for it.”

“It was all in the day’s work, sir,” Harry replied, his already flushed face turning pinker. “I only remembered the woman’s face and suspected she wasn’t a real messenger.”

“It takes a pretty smart boy to remember a thing like that at the right moment,” smiled the senior partner. “Mr. Prescott tells me you were instrumental in breaking up that chain of thieving last year. He says he would like to have you on his staff. Do you wish me to place you there?”

“Oh, no, sir!” Harry expressed emphatic disapproval of such a change. “I shouldn’t like to be a detective in the least. I just happened to get into both those affairs.”

Mr. Martin smiled whimsically. “You’re rather different from the average youngster. Most boys would jump at a chance to become a sleuth. What would you like to become?” he questioned, staring hard at Harry.

“A business man, sir. I’d like to learn a lot about a big store like this; about the way things are done here. Then if ever I had a chance to go into business for myself, I know just what to do and how to do it.”

“So you’d prefer becoming a business man. I should say you had already made a fair start. How would you like some day to be a book buyer?”

Harry’s answer came somewhat haltingly.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve thought a good deal about that. In one way I’d like it and in another way I wouldn’t.”

“Tell me just what you mean,” tactfully urged the man.

“I think——” began Harry. “You see it’s like this. If I were some day to go into business for myself I don’t believe it would be in books. I don’t know yet just what it would be. I won’t know, either, for a long time to come. I’d like to stay with Mr. Rexford, of course. Still in another year I ought to be something more than a stock boy. I don’t want to be a salesman, and even if I knew enough I couldn’t be an assistant by that time. I’d still be considered too young for such a responsible position.” Drawn out to speak of what lay nearest his heart, Harry had quite forgotten his brief embarrassment. He was opening his mind to his interested listener in the same frank fashion in which he might have talked to Teddy Burke.

“I understand,” nodded Mr. Martin. “As you say you are still rather young to talk with any certainty of your future. But you’ve made a good start, young man; a good start. Keep on in the same way and some day you’ll find yourself where you hope to be. You can’t do it in a day, or a month, or a year. You must build your future, stone upon stone. It won’t be easy. Nothing worth having is easy to get. Remember that. Now, Harry, I am very glad to have met you; glad to have such a boy as you in my store. I shall not forget you. Every now and then I shall send for you to come to me to ask you how you are progressing.”

“Thank you, Mr. Martin,” Harry rose, believing the pleasant interview to be at an end. “I shall try always to have good reports to bring you.” He was about to say “good morning” and depart when the senior partner halted him.

“Wait a moment,” he commanded. Picking up a sealed envelope on his desk he tendered it to the amazed boy. “This is for you, with Martin Brothers’ heartiest thanks. You are not to open it until you are in your own home.”

Harry drew back, the ruddy color leaving his cheeks. “Oh, I couldn’t——” he stammered.

“This envelope does not contain what you think it holds,” returned Mr. Martin, his eyes twinkling. “Whatever it contains I insist that you accept it.”

Reluctantly Harry took the envelope. A sudden mist flashed across his blue eyes. He tried to speak, but could not. For an instant the whole room became a blur. Then he managed to articulate an unsteady, “I thank you, Mr. Martin. Good morning.” Completely unnerved by his astonishing good fortune, he cast an eloquent look toward the man at the desk and hurried from the office.

Regaining Department 84 his first move was to seek Mr. Rexford’s office. He felt that he ought to tell the buyer of his recent call on the senior partner. The day following the affair of the cash box, Mr. Rexford had come to him and said: “Well, Harry, I hear that you saved the store considerable money yesterday. Hereafter Prescott will have to look out for his laurels. I understand he is anxious to have you transferred to his office. You don’t want to go, do you?” And Harry had answered with a decided, “I do not.” Mr. Rexford had appeared vastly relieved at the reply and offered Harry his hand in unspoken apology for certain brusque speeches he had given utterance to, directly after the trouble over the stolen ring.

It was now most disappointing to the boy to find Mr. Rexford’s office deserted of his presence, just when he wished most to see him. Later he learned from Mr. Brady, who, since Leon’s removal, had grown quite friendly, that the buyer had gone out of the city for a day or two. So Harry hugged his good news until lunch time, when he could relate it to Teddy.

Teddy was vastly impressed. “I guess you’re it,” he observed, his black eyes glowing. “What do you s’pose is in that envelope? Let’s see it.”

Harry took the envelope from a coat pocket. Teddy hefted, pinched and fingered it in crafty speculation. “It’s quite heavy. Maybe it’s a picture of Mr. Martin,” he guessed. “He might want you to have it to remember him by.” His accompanying grin belied the seriousness of his guess. “Wouldn’t you like to have me walk clear home with you to-night?” he asked slyly.

“You funny Teddy,” laughed Harry. “Of course I would. I was going to ask you to.”

There was one other person to whom Harry felt bound to confide his good news. That person was Margaret Welch. On his way from luncheon he sought her desk.

“Why, here’s Nick Carter the second!” exclaimed the jolly exchange clerk.

“Don’t tease me,” protested Harry, smiling. “I want to tell you something.” Modestly he spoke of the honor that had so recently been his.

“Well, I never!” Miss Welch became all smiles. “You certainly are the candy kid. Be sure you tell me to-morrow what was in that envelope. And Prescott’s aching to get hold of you! But none of that Sherlock business for yours. Say, Harry, I wanted to ask you something, but I kept forgetting it. How did that girl put over that cash box stunt? You was up in Prescott’s office when she was. Did she tell? Now don’t cry. I know you hate to talk about it. Still you can oblige your friend Irish for once. Her middle name’s Rubber.”

Harry’s face had clouded as Miss Welch brought up the subject he had resolutely put behind him. Her final speech made him smile. “She told Mr. Prescott that she had been watching the cashier in jewelry for a week. She had a cash box made to look like those in the store. The receipt pad she had was almost the same as those they use in Mr. Wiggins’ office. She thought no one would notice the difference until after she got away. It was easy enough to dress in black like the store girls, I suppose.”

“Hm! She must have figured out the whole cash system pretty well,” mused Miss Welch. “Say, Harry, did you know Breeden’s going to leave Saturday night?”

“No.” Harry showed some surprise. “It’s funny, Miss Welch, but Miss Breeden has been quite nice to me lately. I never thought she would be after what happened last Spring.”

“Ha, ha!” Miss Welch seemed vastly amused. “There’s a reason, and this is it. Breeden’s going to be married soon, not to Farley, but somebody else. She and Farley smashed their wedding ring plans right after New Year’s. I heard about it just a few days back.”

Harry went back to his work feeling that the last ghost had, indeed, been laid.

“Let’s take the street car home,” was Teddy’s audacious proposal after work that night.

“You’re more curious about what’s in that envelope than I am,” laughed Harry.

“Course I am. I want to see Mr. Martin’s picture,” grinned his unabashed chum.

It was a thrilling moment for Harry when with Teddy at his left, his mother at his right, he tore open the concealing envelope, to find a small pasteboard-covered book, bearing the printed legend, “Martin Brothers’ Bank.” Underneath was written, “Harry Harding.”

“Hooray!” shrieked Teddy.

Harry had already opened the book. He gasped, then overcome, hid his face against his mother’s ever ready shoulder. “Mothery!” he whispered in choking ecstasy.

Harry suddenly raised his head from his mother’s shoulder, his blue eyes shining. “I thought last year that the twenty-dollar gold piece was splendid. But, a hundred dollars! I’m going to give it straight to you, Mothery!”

“You’ll do no such thing,” declared Mrs. Harding with a shake of her head. “This money is yours and you must keep it in the bank and try to add a little to it whenever you can. That’s what Mr. Martin means you to do.”

“I’m going to write a letter to Mr. Edward Martin to-night,” announced Harry. “I’d like to have him know how much this means to me.” Fondly he patted the bank book.

“Summer’s coming,” observed Teddy irrelevantly, his black eyes dreamy.

“So it is. I know what made you think about it just now, too. You’re remembering last vacation and——”

“The Year of Promise,” supplemented Teddy. “It’s been some year, hasn’t it?”

“Yes, it has. When we sat under that tree last summer and read that story, I never thought we were going to have such a queer winter in the store. My mother says nobody can become great or broad-minded without having troubles,” mused Harry.

“I think my mind is broader,” returned Teddy seriously. “My head’s bigger than it was last year.”

Harry burst into rollicking laughter. Teddy glared reproof, then giggled. “It’s so,” he contended. “I wear a size larger hat’n I did a year ago. That’s a sign, all right.”

“There are lots of other signs besides that,” reminded Harry warmly. “I’m lucky to have you for my chum, Teddy Burke.”

“You mean just the other way ’round.” Teddy’s thin hand sought Harry’s in a firm renewal of their boyish covenant. Builded upon the foundation of loyalty, theirs was a friendship that would defy time and change.

THE END